A Mercenary's Reflection
by Elektra-chan
Summary: An aging Shiris reflects on her relationship with Orson


Authoress' Notes: This takes place 50 years after the TV series. There are spoilers abound here, so don't read if you prefer not to be spoiled. Feedback would be most appreciated, all I ask is that you remain civil.  
  
ROLW is copyright Ryo Mizuno and Group SNE. I am naught but a lowly fangirl.  
  
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A Mercenary's Reflection  
  
They say that time heals all wounds. That rage and pain eventually become a merciful dullness to even the most broken of spirits. For awhile, I believed the saying. Most of my angers and frustrations were short-lived, and by the time I forgot a wrongdoing, another one was on the verge of exploding in my face.  
  
And that was all right by me. It was rare when I stayed in the same town for more than a week at a time, so I didn't have to deal much with people who irritated me. When you're a mercenary, you can't really 'plan' your life. Mercenaries live by the day, sometimes even just by the hour. Our jobs vary. Oftentimes, it's nothing more than guarding some town gate, or perhaps being sent on a mission to scout out an enemy's territory. Sometimes it was boring work, but most of the time I loved it. I loved the thrill and adventure of never knowing what exactly you were going to do that day.  
  
It is a job for young people, who are not as set in their ways. People like the great sorcerer Slayn would find this tiring. When I first met you, I didn't think you'd be the mercenary type either. You were so soft-spoken, so quiet and even-tempered. Nothing ever fazed you. But damn, you had a will of iron, and could be as stubborn as hell. The perfect soldier, I always thought your place would be on the battlefield.  
  
In a way, I guess you were.  
  
I didn't know about your berserker nature at first. I was just tired that day (trying to keep some sort of order at the port of Rood is exhausting), and needed a drink badly. And boom! There you were, sitting quietly on a stool in Castaways, with this huge mug of ale. You looked at me, as if to acknowledge my presence, but didn't say anything. I asked you your name, and you hesitated for a moment before answering 'Orson.' I don't remember much about what happened after that, as a fight broke out shortly after.  
  
It wasn't rare that Castaways, or any other Raiden pub would witness a fight. Raiden was home to many, many different people of race, religion, and family. This fight seemed typical however. Two guys were fighting over some scantily dressed girl, who looked scared to death. I was just settling in to watch a good barroom brawl, when suddenly, I felt something I had never felt before. An angry, destructive power, barely laced and on the verge of breaking forth.  
  
When I heard you growl behind me, my blood ran cold. I had never heard a sound like that from any human. It was an animalistic growl, and only became more animated as the frightened girl continued to try and hold off her tormentor. When you managed to catch a hold of the tormentor and simply choke him to death, I knew something was dead wrong, as you didn't stop there. You started whaling hell out of the other observers as well, even though they hadn't done anything.   
  
Before long, the whole pub had erupted into complete chaos. There were several cries of 'Berserker!' as people ran screaming out of the bar. And then, whether it was out of adrenaline or fear, I found myself facing off with you, yelling harsh, desperate words for you to stop. To my amazement, you did. That was the first time I had ever heard of a berserker managing to control its rage. I was captivated. Even more so when I heard you speak:  
  
"Thank you, Shiris."  
  
No one could quite say my name like you did. You had such a unique voice, soft and low-pitched with a gravelly undertone. Sadly enough, I wouldn't hear much of that voice, although we had unofficially become partners afterwards. You preferred to listen rather than talk. Whether I was ranting about the outrageous prices of Raiden goods, or how much my feet were killing me, you listened intently, rarely criticizing or offering unsolicited advice. Never once, did I hear from you the three words I hate most: Told You So.  
  
I guess that's part of the reason why I liked you so much. With you, I could breathe freely. You accepted me as I was, and didn't try to change me. Around you, I always felt welcome. And it had been such a long time since I had felt so important to anyone.   
  
I've never been much for regrets. Most of my emotions are as fleeting as wild birds, but I do wish I had been nicer to you. When we joined up with the Free Knight and his friends that one time, I flirted blatantly with him, not knowing that the 'love' I felt for him was actually nothing more than lust, and not knowing that with every batted eyelash, I was hurting you.   
  
But even in my wildest imagination, I could never dream that you would sacrifice your life for mine. When the Black Knight wounded you, and Hyurii disappeared, my naïve soul thought you had been cured for good. And what I did afterwards still sickens me.   
  
During the rest of the trip to Fire Dragon Mountain, I treated you like dirt. I was so used to the calm, rational, unemotional Orson who didn't counter my opinions and voice his own. I missed the Orson who never complained no matter how far we had to walk. Already nervous and jittery, I took my nerves and anger at my own ineffectual swordsmanship out on the one who loved me most. The one who had vowed to protect me.  
  
Why is it when one realizes something, it is almost always too late? True to your word, you protected me from that she-monster, opening your mind and soul to Hyurii once again to save my sorry hide. When you fell from the fatal wounds inflicted upon you, I ran to you just like old times, and you collapsed in my arms, sleeping peacefully. Only this time, it was a sleep from which you would never awaken. You fell asleep forever, while I woke up. I woke up to the fact that the one person who ever truly respected me, and loved me for who I am, was no longer living.   
  
I am widowed now, and weary from age and boredom. My loving husband had died five years ago, and I have no one whom I can talk to anymore, nor does my life even remotely resemble the exciting, adventurous life I once lived with you. Being the Queen of Moss is a major snore in in this time of peace and prosperity. I crave the adventure and miss the excitement of the time when we were two of the most infamous Lodoss mercenaries.. Yes, maybe time eventually dulls pain and rage. I can honestly say that I'm not angry, or in pain right now.   
  
But time cannot kill loneliness, nor can they subdue memories. All the memories of your kindness, the memories of our time together will continue to haunt me throughout the rest of my remaining life. I've always loved you Orson, even if it wasn't the way you wished I could. And I'm looking forward to the day when I can finally tell you, just how much you meant to me.  
  
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More From the Authoress: This was completely written on a whim. Shiris strikes me as a very complex character, despite her forthright nature. Please tell me what you think of it! 


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